


Descendant

by Blacklyra



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Aliases, Assassins, Canon Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossing Timelines, Family Bonding, Friendship, Gratuitous Lying, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Past Character Death, Pieces of Eden, Rating May Change, Second Chances, Templars, and future ones too, avoiding paradoxes, consequences of screwing with time, post AC3, references past relationships, references to AC4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacklyra/pseuds/Blacklyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva locates a promising third option in the aftermath. All she can do is put the gears into motion and hope that they work out for the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Soul Remnant

 

Silence stretched into the endless expanse of the Grand Temple, a mindless collection of ancient technology and obsidian stone, now recently emptied of the phantom whom had haunted its halls. A flash of light had smothered the monolith in an instant, sending the cavern's temporary tenants scurrying away from the spectacle minus one of their number, proceeded only minutes later by a female figure with a shadow of a smile lingering on her lips. She was devoid of regret, or even that of basest compassion, corrupted by countless ages past of overwhelming waves of pain and bitterness. What was once a figure of awe and wisdom now became a shell of her former self, embodied only by the hate she nurtured.

But though this hallowed hall was now devoid of life, it was not without a conscious presence, though little more than a hologram drifting in a world not her own. She could only wonder how she hadn't seen this conclusion coming, how any man so tied to the plight of the world could have allowed for the deaths of billions of his race. This has always been the way of his kind, regardless of unwillingness; one small sacrifice to save the lives of many. Even now, some selflessness existed within the hearts and minds of mankind. And yet...

 _"I am truly sorry. Even if my words are never heard and my message is never forgiven, you deserve to have it nonetheless,"_ The woman shimmered through the air like a ghost, kneeling over the body of the world's chosen son. She, like her corrupted brethren, had seen much death and emptiness over the passing ages and had become distant from the effects it would have otherwise had on her. In spite of that, however, a familiar regret lingered deep within, that another path could have been available to preserve this life. _"This moment will be remembered, no matter what fate awaits the world."_

Minerva was about to rise to her feet and vanish back into the recesses of the void from whence she had come, perhaps with the intent of trying to spread her words of warning to someone who could fight against what was to come, but the blue-white code that sprang to life stopped her still. A mere flash and then it was ceased at once, but the woman saw the light for what it was. Computer code. A message written in her calculations, her domain.

 _"Desmond?"_ His right arm was alight with it, a complex encryption that no human living within the last eon should have the knowledge necessary to use. Minerva leaned down and touched her flickering fingers to the glowing symbols, instantly allowing a rush of information to flood into her domain. Years of knowledge, memory, power all compacted and converted into data and calculations. Rough, inelegant but... _"Humans...even now, they still continue to surprise us..."_

She had nothing left to lose, nothing left to risk. Whatever kind of message this man had left behind for the future, let it be something capable of doing good.

**Opening EARTH Partition...Three...Two...One...**

**Downloading File...SEVENTEENTH_TESTAMENT.RAR......Complete...**

**.........DEcrypting.........**

**.........proceSsing.........**

**coMpacted ONto Drive/MINERVA**

**:coMmand Integration pLEaSe:**

**_\-- >_What is a Man, but the Sum of his Memories? _< \--_**

_"I see... Your predecessor was an interesting man. One might even call him a genius."_ With a soundless whisper of ethereal cloth, she at last moved away to stand before the pedestal, watching as the device throbbed and pulsed like a living heartbeat of the earth itself. Minerva pressed her long faded fingertips into the Eye, pushing years worth of collected information into the Nexus at its center, uncertain if this last message would change anything for better or for worse. At her very core, the long-dead woman from an ancient civilization was a cynic doubting the abilities and morality of humanity, yet had never grown to despise them the way the one known as Juno had. For she was not Juno, and even if she was unable to stop the terror the world would soon face, she would still honor what was left behind.

**User=MINERVA/truth_file/ARCHIVE_KACZMAREK/input.viral16**

**Accessing domain: TEMPLE_03_JUNO......**

**processing.........**

**//USER FLAGGED//**

**/Access Denied/reason=?/error.viral17/script_lostDM2ee5fl.html**

**Backdoor Protocol Override......0001100111*****111110/THE_PROPHET_SPEAKS/**

**Input_password: lucyintheskywithdiamonds**

**processing.........**

**Accessed Granted: vatirmVAULT_04**

**Installing SEVENTEENTH_TESTAMENT.RAR.........**

Minerva stared into the Eye, wondering what--if anything--these actions had bought for the future, and gave a bittersweet smile as the contraption glowed with light, _"The consequences are yours now."_ Then suddenly the Grand Temple was awash with endless white light and all she could do was stare into it with her arms spread wide, and maybe just maybe, dared to have a little hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have... so many plans. So many.  
> How many of them will make it into existence? But I'll focus on this one for now. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> ~~Likes Ed, but not currently sure how he would fit into this story. Oh well.~~  
> 


	2. Do As The Romans Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just run away from your problems if you want cause sometimes we need a time to think and cool down a bit before making a decision.”  
> ― Adel Sakura

_Dream Sequence #1_

_He’s trapped in a world of white and water that doesn’t seem to be able to soak his skin, swirling around him like a zephyr that has obtained a stronger concept of what’s tangible and what isn’t. Caught up in the flow of life, or death, and he laughs to himself in his head—or what’s left of it anyway since sooner or later his consciousness is bound to fade off. Because that’s all he ever was—caught up in the predetermined path set for him all his life, and remained that way in spite of all desperate attempts to break away. He studies the water instead, or this inexorable ether that so closely resembles liquid, and feels for a moment that he is drowning, without the pain of choking and fear of drifting into the deep._

**They dumped his body in the river. No more use. No more value.**

_Yes, because you can’t fear anything after you’ve already felt death and the tumultuous current grows stronger to drag him under. He’s not afraid, just tired—tired of dancing on strings with his instinctual anger sloughs off into a disinterested daze—and he waits for the tide to carry him off. It takes the man longer to recognize the fact that he’d always been more frightened of being jerked around and used than he ever was of dying and the thought makes him start laughing more._

**But he existed in the machine. Not alive but there. A mad, broken genius.**

_But the current that he has done nothing to fight back against is not pulling him down, dragging him into empty oblivion, but ascending into the blue that he knows is the sky. He reasons it’s another method of passing, because despite that he’s lived the lives of people whose experiences spit in the face of religion, lots of humans seem to think the afterlife is somewhere in the sky above. If he hadn’t grasped the undeniable enormity of what he’d done and the shock of electrical burning permeating through his body not too long before, he’d probably think the idea was rather silly as well. He was a cynic through and through after all, no denying that. He doubted, rejected, disbelieved—fact and fiction, logic and fancy. Who cares? Nothing mattered more than going his own way, doing his own thing, screw everything else._

**He who was torn down, built. Truths and second chances. Placed it into _His_ flesh.**

_The whirlwind of water cleared and there was nothing but blue, but he could feel the warmth he shouldn’t be able to feel. Buzzing. Ringing._ Pain. _The afterlife was a cruel monster and he tried to brush it away because you’re not supposed to be able to experiences such things after the end—the madness, pain and sacrifice should leave things to fade into the darkness—but he was. Something prickled at the eyelids that shouldn’t exist, because just a moment ago the feeling of having a body was a quaint memory. Damn it, was it even possible to lose your mind after you were dead? What a gyp._

**"I’m saving you, you idiot!"**

* * *

 

He came to with a strangled gasp, reaching out with shaking hands and placing them over his head as a massive headache ripped through him like a tidal wave, leaving the man prone on the cold ground as he waited for the spontaneous pain to die down bit by bit. He was lying in the dark, cool air stagnant in the absence of wind and circulation, and the passage of time was too slow to fall within the limits of recollection. It may have been hours before the throbbing agony finally faded—a headache with the force of a dozen handovers nonetheless—leaving behind only a dull throbbing as the only evidence that it had even occurred in the first place, and tentatively, the grasping hands fell away to the smooth floor below.

It was a vaguely hexagonal chamber in shape and dimly lit by flickers of precursor lights running along the walls in a regular pattern that never left the chamber black for more than a few seconds, and barely managed to illuminate the twenty-five year old man glaring at them with annoyance. _"I am so damn sick of you guys,"_ And he rose to his feet unsteadily, pressing on his knees with the palms of his hands to get the feeling back into them and to get familiar with the idea of walking again. The real question was what exactly had happened to give him the capacity to wake up again, only to open his eyes to find himself in some enclosed precursor room. _"Maybe I’m in hell,"_ He considered this with a humorless smile, and the very idea of staring at technology made by the very same people who got such a kick out of jerking him around for the rest of his life certainly did sound like a vision from hell.

**It’s your life now.**

If he hadn’t been staring at the walls with such a deep-seeded hatred, he might have missed the words that flashed across his vision for a few brief seconds, devoid of audio but written in plain, grammatically correct English that threw him for a loop. There was no way it was Them that had sent that message; Juno still had awful grammar—and this coming from a guy who usually didn’t care one way or another except to spite her—and he suspected that Minerva wasn’t all that much better.

**Seek the Pieces and return, or run free.**

Another flash across his still-adjusting vision and one of the walls slid away to reveal an exit brightened by natural light and a breeze that could have only meant an exit to the outside world. But still, someone who had been raised for a purpose, born for a purpose, couldn’t believe that it could have possibly been that simple. He waited for an order; go here, do this, find a tool for us to use, make an insane choice before the world goes up in flames because you’re the only one who can. There was nothing. No more messages and no commanding voice demanding something important to be done, or irreversible decision that would always end in heartbreak no matter what.

Not a word.

Freedom.

And then Desmond Miles turned on his heel and ran from the fading words like a man being chased-as he often was-and stumbled out into the open, finally recognizing just where exactly he had ended up: the Vault in the Vatican. Rome. Italy, so far away from the Grand Temple where he had been led and used, fire burning in his blood in the end.

Without even stopping to think about it, the man threw himself at the high walls of the Vault’s belly and pulled himself up with easy movements, clinging onto handholds as though he had been doing so for years. Desmond clambered over the edge and sprinted down an adjoining pathway, remembering without meaning to following Mario Auditore as Ezio into the light after a revelation that shook the bones of both him and the memory itself, and the last few days he would spend with the man who had been both his uncle and combat instructor.

Sunlight fell upon him as the man stepped from a window and out into the open air, relishing the sensation of wind across his face and the sounds of birds crying through the air, enjoying the little things like he never knew he would. The last time he felt this free was Montegerrioni in the dead of night, with shingles slipping under his feet and the constant reminder of ‘ten minutes til sunrise’ that he never really appreciated until later. Desmond took a moment to take it all in before realizing what should have been obvious from the start; the building were so familiar that the feeling of déjà vu fell upon him like a dense cloud, made even worse by the style of clothing people wore. For a second or two he thought maybe he was in the Animus again, but Desmond wore his own body, instead of borrowing one from his distant relatives.

"Huh," He wasn’t going to waste time putting his confusion into words.

All things considered, he shouldn’t be alive, so his location and _time_ wasn’t as shocking as it probably should have been. He was far more concerned with the words written across the Vault, left for him and only for him. _"’Return…’ Which means it’s possible…"_

Desmond couldn’t decide if he even wanted to return, and so he buried the fanciful idea down into his subconscious until he wanted to consider the idea again. Here he was free to go and do what he willed, and the choice was far from appealing.He didn't want to think about it, about what his world had done to him in the end. The problem wasn't just the trials and pain, but the sheer exhaustion that Desmond was left with after so many runs through the Animus, spending more time in someone else's body than his own for some days. And even remaining in the machine for full days at a time. Was Desmond really still only twenty-five? He felt older, much older, wearied by countless years of knowledge and experience from men long gone. And then, he had come to terms with it all in the Temple, accepted the fact that whatever happened the moment he opened the final door might just result in death. Maybe he was still in shock over that. Desmond expected to be dead, no, he had _accepted_ death. What should have been relief left him only in more confusion.

What had his sacrifice meant? If he was here, what would happen to the world? But Desmond didn't know if he had the will to do that again, couldn't let go of his survival again and suffer _that agony_ a second time. Even if he had somehow created a weird paradox that saved the world and yet left him alive, Assassins did not get the opportunity to live in peace, everyone knew that. In order to go back to where he'd come from, the now former Assassin would have to weigh his desire to go home between what would be waiting from him afterwards.

When it really came down to it, the man just couldn't stand to think about the possibility now.

Desmond let it go and jumped from the window, catching the balcony across from his and falling into an effortless freerun across the slopping rooftops of Rome’s richer district while ignoring shouts from angry guardsmen, paying little attention to his actual destination even as he plummeted off a ledge and into a hay-filled cart several stories below.

That's what he needed more than anything. Even if it was just more trait he shared with his ancestors, Desmond felt the complex movements clearing the stress from him bit by bit. To just not think about anything but the run was oddly therapeutic in a sense. He could worry about the major questions later, for now he just wanted the chance to _live._

_"So what’s the first thing on my agenda?"_ Desmond considered for a moment before coming to the conclusion that he should find a new outfit as fast as possible before his future-wear drew too many odd glances. If nothing else, he was skilled at staying under the radar; the man never really needed any Bleeding Effect lessons for that. What little he learned from the Farm as a teenager and nine years incognito did help. A good few rounds of emptying the pockets of rich snobs ought to do the trick to get a hold of some new threads. He jumped out of the cart and brushed off a few lingering strings of the yellow strands from his clothes and gave a sheepish grin to the older couple staring at him in shock.

Eventually, they moved away, the woman muttering under her breath like a judgmental patron. _"I giovani in questi giorni hanno troppo tempo sulle loro mani..."_ * A few seconds clicked by as Desmond's brain worked to translate that mess into English with his rather unconscious and unconventionally learned knowledge of Italian. He missed the subtitles like all hell right now. Though it turned out to be not very important information anyway; the rude couple obviously didn't get out of the rich district much. Surely they should be familiar with La Volpe's thieves or the Cento Occhi, if not the rare sighting of building-hopping white hooded assassins. Or maybe he was pushed back a bit earlier in the timeline than he had originally guessed at.

Desmond stole their spending money anyway just for the heck of it.

He hit the the Vatican district with all gusto, logic dictating that rich citizens would net him more spending money. They certainly wouldn't miss it, but Desmond scanned the crowd intently, searching for the distinct outfit of a guardsman while he worked.

Sure enough, as the man was wandering the plaza nearest the Vatican, eavesdropping on conversations to improve his language recognition and practicing his pickpocket skills, a group of soldiers decorated in gaudy red emblems stormed passed him and almost ran him over. Desmond locked onto the bull insignia emblazoned on their armors and the pieces seemed to click together: The Borgia were still running the show. They weren't nervous or in any sort of hurry either, just marching the streets cocky as could be, as if the assassins weren't yet a credible threat to them. Little did they know that was going to change sooner or later. Via a certain Auditore pissed with for the second time in his life.

Desmond frowned and moved off with every intention of ignoring the passing guards unless they made trouble for him, as he still hadn't gotten around to changing yet. Just to be sure his weapon was still present, he pulled up his sleeves slightly and found the straps and metallic casing of his hidden blade a comforting presence on his right arm, the compact design much more subtle than the Renaissance-age gauntlets Ezio carried. Although, he was sure they weren't that clean the last time he checked them after the mess he made at Abstergo. The secondary knife he kept in the sleeves on his left side however, was absent entirely, but it was still a relief to have one of them at all. Of course, despite that, he should try to avoid using even one blade as much as possible so no one could confuse him for one of Rome's assassins.

The last thing he needed was his face on a wanted poster...again.

He shook his head at the thought of it and asked for directions to the nearest tailor, not feeling too concerned for the plight of the city. Ezio saved Rome from the hordes of Borgia pansies just fine without his help, there was no need to get involved with a struggle that he didn't need to.

In fact, maybe tomorrow after a nice meal and rest at a local inn Desmond would buy a horse and skip the city, and go somewhere he wouldn't have to worry about having Assassins and Templars declaring open war on each other. Florence maybe, or Venice. Or, hell, ditch Italy altogether and find some other country to crash in. He heard the Americas were relatively nice and quiet around this century.

Desmond sighed and sidled up to the tailor's counter and slid his coins across the wood surface, picking out a selection of clothes in a halting, unsure string of Italian that the shop owner thankfully understood. He seemed to realize that his customer was a foreigner and spoke slower than the norm as he handed Desmond the pile of stitch work, only hesitating when the young man handed him more coins to pay for a large sack to carry all his things in. "Grazie," The ex-Assassin thanked him in a rush and sprinted off with his newly purchased goods folded into his bag with the bulging parcel hung over one shoulder. He wasted no time meandering the streets of Rome before heading to the closest inn, though he'd had to cross over the bridge into the city proper, where the previously-ignored stench of the sub-par fifteenth century hygiene became more pungent.

Ick.

Maybe because he had more important things to focus on at the time, but he hadn't covered that portion of the Renaissance era, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and tried to pretend as though not everybody smelled of a delinquent's dirty socks.

Apparently there were no rooms available in the high class establishments for someone who wasn't a stuck up snob, so he made do with what he could find to rest at. Desmond glanced up at the sky as the horizon grew ever more colorful as blue skies were replaced by the brilliants reds and orange hues of approaching dusk, picking up the pace as he searched for the right lodgings.

The knee-jerk (untrained) reaction was to head to an establishment that was quiet and dark with few patrons, but Desmond knew enough from both ancestral experience and his own that the dank corners of society were wrong way to go. He knew how to blend in, to disappear and vanish as if he'd never been, but he needed a crowd to do it properly. That was what brought him to The Yellow Boar situated just down the road from the nearest brothel and a market within easy walking distance that made the inn packed with merchants, commoners and the occasional red-clad soldier.

God, this was perfect.

No one even gave the ex-bartender a second glance as he weaved in between chatting patrons and drunken compatriots without jostling them and quashed down his ridiculous urge to slip behind the bar and take up his old job again. That could wait for another day and another city, yeah, definitely another city at least. Desmond booked the last available room with a few scant coins from his pockets hurried up the stairs while dodging out of the way of a swaying yet beautiful woman who attempted to latch onto his arm. The man shook his head and frowned darkly when he caught her murmuring "Ezio, Ezio" under her breath and stormed up to his quarters and locked the door.

God-freakin' promiscuous Ezio.

Desmond was more than glad he'd found that his Italian ancestor's romance with Sofia had helped to produce his bloodline rather than the less tasteful idea of one of the heartbreaker's many unknown 'friends with benefits' had doing so instead. It certainly wouldn't be fun to end up with the latter option and have a courtesan great something-or-other grandmother somewhere down the line.

The man halted his thoughts and whispered a fervent apology to Clay for that.

Desmond removed himself from where he'd been leaning against the doorway's rough frame and dragged himself to the scratchy bed in the corner of the room, dropping his bag of new clothes onto the bedside table with a dull thump. He could hear cursing and the ruckus from downstairs and the adjacent occupied quarters drifting through the thin walls and Desmond couldn't quite help it when his mouth curved upward into a tiny, amused grin.

It sounded just like he was back in his old apartment building again. All that was missing from the sounds of the experience was the roar of speeding cars and the impatient honking of motorists on their way to the nearest nightclub for a bang and the sting of alcohol on the throat.

For a moment or two, he wondered if this was all some twisted dream, or a tease to make him think everything that had happened in the Grand Temple hadn't actually come to pass at all. Once the man thought perhaps that if he went to sleep now, he simply wouldn't ever wake up again. But regardless of all those worries, Desmond couldn't really be too afraid of it; he couldn't exactly stay awake in a dingy little inn room forever without falling asleep, for one thing. And for another, he had so many broken dreams and hallucinations lately, and after learning to differentiate them from reality in an arduous mental training this...life didn't feel fake in the slightest. Desmond kept that thought strong in the forefront of his mind and undressed for bed, falling into slumber almost as soon as he hit the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Young people these days have too much time on their hands...
> 
> A/N: Alternate Title: In-Which-Desmond-Becomes-a-Total-Klepto-and-Is-Rude-to-Old-People
> 
> I know where this story is going, but it's admittedly looking like a long road, and everything may not make sense right away. Its not supposed to.


	3. Exercising With Futility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.” 
> 
> ― Charles Darwin

_Dream Sequence #2_

_He felt them bundled up inside his head and he thinks its like trying to stuff too many papers into one flimsy little file folder, because one person cannot handle that many memories. Sooner or later the bindings will snap, and everything he tried so hard to contain will come ripping apart with no one alive who could even think to stop it. He stills isn't quite sure if he can relate to the things that Clay felt, and he'll certainly never be able to relate to and understand Daniel and what he went through._

_Except that things are different now._

_When the man dreams, he can recognize them as his own imaginings, instead of the thoughts and worries of Altair, Ezio, Haytham, or Connor. They are...distant and apart from him now, memories that feel like facts learned out of a textbook instead of knowledge burned into his brain with the Animus. He can't understand why this is. He doesn't know why the many years of understanding isn't suddenly crowding in upon him like someone who can't understand what personal space is, but the man knows that he can only enjoy every second of freedom that he's been given, and hope that the old pain doesn't return. He wonders if death did this, and if so is grateful for it._

_He savors the moment, the feeling of having his mind all to himself. Of being Desmond Miles and no one else for the first time in what felt like decades. He dreams of dextrous fingers handling a gleaming shaker and laughs as a hefty tip is pushed across a familiar bar. Patrons always pay better when the drinks are served well. He revels in the feeling of handlebars gripped between his palms and the intense roar of a motorcycle engine and the wind in his face. Because he'd have every damn thing he'd ever wanted if it weren't for that ID. He remembers men and women shouting and dancing under the flash of brightly colored lights and the heavy thump of base as it rattles his ribcage in time to the beat. It doesn't matter who they are, but in the throes of dance and music, everyone is more beautiful than ever._

**_"Havin' fun yet, Plan B?"_ **

_Everything skids to an abrupt halt as a voice he recognizes (and yet at the same time he doesn't; its hard to explain the feeling in words) brings his fantasies to a stop. The stranger's(?) tone is a curious mixture of bored and yet amused and the man can't pin down where he's heard it before or even if he has at all. He searches through the memories of the men who lives he's lived and not one of them can match what he's hearing. It's a puzzle, a mystery, leaving the man at a distinct loss._

_His dreaming fancies slip away as dawn forces its way back into his mind. When he wakes, he can no longer remember the unknown voice at all._

* * *

　

Desmond isn't quite sure what to think when he opens his eyes that morning to see an unfamiliar dirty ceiling stretching above his head and it takes him several minutes to remember what had occurred the previous day and why he's even there.

_"Aww...fuck..."_

He rolled over onto his side and threw off the rough sheets as though they were infected with disease, moving over to wrench open the shutters enough to let beams of morning sunlight to come streaming into his compact little room. Desmond leans against the open frame for a minute or two then, watching as the sun brightens the dawn sky, and people come out from their homes one by one to fill the streets and begin their new day. He sighed and felt it sink in more than ever before that this was all _real,_ and the man took a long moment to just enjoy the sight of a morning he didn't have to spend on a time limit, underground or locked up.

The pungent scent from the other day isn't as apparent anymore, or at least, Desmond isn't paying enough attention to notice it at this point. He can hear the distant sounds of birdsong and the beginnings of casual chattering on the cobblestone streets below, a welcome change from the near-constant hum of the Animus, computers and coffee makers. Though coffee in of itself would be a nice treat to have. At the very least it would to clear the dreary morning fog in his head so Desmond could think.

He wants to get out all of a sudden, desirous of the open air and the strangely familiar streets that he had never walked before and yet still felt that he had regardless. It was a difficult feeling to get used to, even more so since this wasn't some Bleeding Effect vision. The man shook his head and moved the creaking shutters into a mostly closed position so he could change in peace and upended his new sack full of clothes onto the bed carelessly. Desmond tossed his black shirt and jacket to the ground, quickly replacing them with a deep gray long-sleeved shirt that was thinner than it looked and a smooth red vest. He was about to start on the rest when he caught a glimmer of something shiny that fallen from the pocket of his hoodie and bent down to examine it curiously.

It was the Key to the Grand Temple's Core.

Desmond clenched his fist around the bronze-colored piece of metal ever so slowly, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach as he remembered everything he had to go through to obtain it and what it had all led to in the end. Unimaginable pain. Burning from the inside out. Juno, who didn't even possess the common decency to tell the truth to the man she had ultimately sentenced to _die_. Almost two months of searching through progressively more painful memories and tragedies for this Key and for what? To lose himself in pain and appear in another time with only this stupid piece of metal to show for it. For a few moments, he was sorely tempted to hurl the artifact out onto the street where somebody else could find the damn thing and he never had to look at it again. But he couldn't bring himself to throw away the only clue he had to this whole mystery and just stared at it a second longer before pulling the Key's chain around his neck and tucking it under his shirt, out of sight and out of mind.

Desmond pulled on the black pants, bitterly complaining about 'stupid Italians and their tight clothes,' while tightening the straps on his boots. The ensemble was completed with the addition of a short white cape, emblazoned with the profile of a rearing red griffon. Not bad for a costume purchased with ill-gotten gains, not that he was actually guilty about that.

_When in Rome, right?_

_Ha ha, no, shut up._

Satisfied, Desmond packed his old attire into the sack and slung it over his shoulder with a casual gesture and strode out the door. The first floor of the inn was significantly emptier than it was the previous night, which allowed the ex-assassin to weave between the patrons easily enough and escaping into the open air. In order to leave the city, he'd have to acquire a horse or pay a carriage to take him, which meant Desmond would have to walk to the outskirts first. He didn't immediately see the downside of this idea and accepted the long walk fairly easily. Shrugging, he decided it really wasn't that big of a deal, not like he was on any kind of time limit.

However, it didn't take long for him to realize just how incorrect that assumption really was.

Only ten minutes into his trek through Rome, Desmond was beginning to realize just how jarring it was to stay in any part of the city for a certain length of time. He'd forgotten about one of the major details that Ezio had discovered upon his arrival in Rome, namely, the horrible condition that much of the houses and stores were in. It impossible to really experience it unless you were there in person and he could see that he'd underestimated it. The Borgia guards had shut down marketplaces, imposed harsh restrictions and driven people out of their homes for the slightest offenses right in front of his eyes.

Not too far away, a group of soldiers had accosted a shopkeeper, insulting him and demanding reparation until the poor man emptied a pouch of coins into their hands, stepping back with his head bowed and pleading for forgiveness for his imagined crimes. Extortion inflicted on someone who had no ability to fight back or call for help. Who could he call? The Borgia controlled both the military and the religious outlets, there was nowhere else to go. Desmond swallowed hard, kept his head turned away from the sight and continued walking, trying to remind himself that this wasn't his responsibility. There was already someone both willing and capable of helping these people.

It wasn't his problem to fix and it shouldn't have to be.

But regardless of the assurances, that didn't make the knowledge any easier to take.

After much patience, he finally reached Rome's northern gate, heaving a sigh of relief that he'd soon be far away from all this nonsense. However, just short of the stables Desmond froze at the sound of a high-pitched scream, spinning around to see a young woman get dragged by a pair of guards into the alley between two houses, and he was all too aware of what was about to happen to her.

_'Shit, shit, in broad daylight? What the hell is wrong with these people?!'_

But he knew the answer to that question perfectly well. Borgia could easily get away with stuff like this because nobody could or would stand up to them and try to stop it, as evidenced by all the nearby civilians quickly hurrying away so they wouldn't be caught up in it. And he'd seen first-hand some of the other crimes inflicted upon the people, though this was most definately the most jarring of the lot.

Infuriated by the actions of both groups, Desmond bolted, running into the alley where the woman was taken. The guards had begun to mock her as she cried, tearing at the girl's shirt with apparent glee, unaware of the ex-assassin's presence until his boot connected with the shorter one's back. "Who are--?" As the shout of alarm rang out, Desmond pivoted smoothly, slamming his elbow into the second man's nose and breaking it with a loud crack. While the man reeled with blood pouring down his face in rivulets, Desmond took the opportunity to grab his first target by the neck and smash his face into the closest wall with a sort of brutality he wasn't even aware he had.

"What the heck are you waiting for, lady? Get out of here!" He had shouted it so quickly that he only hoped that he'd spoken in Italian so that she'd understand, thankfully, it seemed to work. The young woman was staring at him in open-mouthed shock, nodded jerkily and ran, almost tripping over her feet as her spontaneous rescuer resumed beating the tar out the molesters.

Unfortunately, the scuffle had already brought the attention of more Borgia guards, these ones protected with helmets and drawing swords with the intent of cutting him down. Desmond had no intention of using his hidden blade and identifying himself as an Assassin, but even without it, he was hardly unarmed. With a skill he'd first learned from Altair, improved as Ezio, and perfected with Conner, the young man grabbed a hold of the nearest guard's hand as he attacked and twisted the sword out of his hand. He cut open the man's chest as he jumped away, parrying another cut and countering a third with a debilitating slash to the knees. Just as Desmond was about to take out another and leave while he still could, something white jumped out of the shadows, impaling the two remaining Borgia soldiers with what was undoubtedly a pair of hidden blades.

Desmond straightened up and averted his face, giving the wall a blank look and tossed his stolen sword on the ground more out of annoyance than anything else. Really, Rome was a massive city and he had the bad luck to meet _him_ of all people so close to the exit. Ezio Auditore da Firenze the goddamn prophet and man of the hour, who naturally, had not yet noticed his worsening mood.

"You looked like you could have used some help, _amico._ Not everyone has the strength to stand up to the Borgia," Ezio retracted his blades with a dull click, thankfully having given up on getting a closer look at him. Instead, he extended a hand and said, "Perhaps you would be willing to fight for a larger cause..." Desmond stared at him aghast; was he being _recruited?_

Just...nope. Nope. Not gonna happen.

Instead he turned on his heel and ran, scaling a nearby building while Ezio watched him with undisguised surprise, jaw-dropped with his hand still hovering in mid air. Desmond took a tiny piece of spiteful pleasure in that reaction before noticing that the older Assassin was actually following after him, leaping to another house and hurling an archer violently out of his way before he could try to open fire. "Why are you following me?" Desmond called back at him sharply without looking back.

"Why are _you_ running?" This time Ezio sounded frustrated, probably not used to people turning him down so abruptly after he'd helped them. Not that Desmond needed help anyway.

"I'm not interested! Fuck off!" Another jump; the rotten wooden roof of a closed down armory sagged under his feet and he quickly moved on before it could collapse underneath him. There was a shout as the older man followed the same path Desmond had taken, nearly breaking the rotten patch before recovering and resuming the chase with a greater determination. Both of them were moving at about the same speed, but Desmond was counting on his age helping him in the stamina department, even if Ezio was technically in better shape for this.

It occurred to Desmond at this point that perhaps sprinting away from the Assassin who supposedly saved him would look more than a little bit suspicious, but the man knew it was already too late to take it back now. He just had to keep going until Ezio lost him, who by the way, may have been losing his temper, _"Merda,_ would you just let me explain _before_ you run away?"

Desmond didn't bother to answer him this time, falling from the roofs and rolling to his feet in a sprint on level ground as the surrounding building began to grow more sparse. The tightly packed expanse of Rome's Centro district gave way to the more open Campagna district, which he quickly regretted now that it had become twice as tough to break Ezio's line of sight. Shit, wait, wasn't there a Borgia tower not too far from here? That would not be good to run into. Sure enough, Desmond can see the tower fairly close on the horizon, and he tried to head southward instead. He should have been thinking clearer, headed south instead of east earlier.

Desmond cast a brief glance over his shoulder for just an instant to see how far behind him Ezio was, blinded just at the wrong moment to prevent another presence in front from tripping him neatly with an outstretched foot. "I must confess Ezio, I've never seen you have so much trouble chasing down one man," A familiar voice brought him to his feet immediately, but it was already too late to attempt to bolt again, now that the older Assassin had caught up to him.

 _"Grazie,_ La Volpe. I swear, if I had to chase him around all day, I'd..." Ezio rubbed at his forehead, causing the man in the brown cloak next to him to start chuckling, possibly amused that someone had managed to give his friend a headache. "I didn't even know you were in Roma as well."

"It is no matter. I already had an urgent matter to speak to you about. Think of this as...a lucky coincidence..."

"You really didn't need to chase me at all," Desmond reminded him, taking a seat on a nearby bench and crossing his arms testily. He was too tired to bolt again, and he highly doubted it would be successful with the master thief standing right next to him. Now not only was Desmond in a bad mood and had managed to bruise his jaw when he'd fallen, but now he had to deal with two very dangerous members of the Brotherhood as well. Master thief and master Assassin, not a nice combination for his first morning in Rome. "I'm not the type of guy you're looking for, anyway." And to think, just when he was about to get out of the Brotherhood's operations forever, he has to run right smack dab into an unexpected situation like this and get chased into a corner.

"And yet you fought to protect a helpless victim from Borgia scum who would have harmed her," Ezio cut in, just a tad more sharply. Desmond knew him well enough though to know not to worry about it over much and just rolled his eyes a bit and leaned back further in his seat.

This time the former Assassin winced and glanced away, "Of course I did. I'm not an asshole, geeze..."

"Just where are you from, young man?" La Volpe interrupted, and the expression on his face suggested he was interested in the unfamiliar accent and manner of speech that Desmond used, something which likely didn't even exist during this period of time. And the young man quickly started to piece together a relatively basic backstory, something he could use instead of his real name, which was completely out of the question. Ezio had already heard his name from Minerva at this point, so giving that one out would only be digging himself into an even worse situation with questions he couldn't afford to answer. Nor was it a good idea to claim the name of someone who lived in Italy; the other Assassins could call him out on that one as well since they were more familiar with the country. Luckily, Desmond knew other locations he could fall back on and knew them well enough to emulate it.

 _"Dimashq_ , er...Damascus, in Syria," Desmond's tone shifts, emulating the accent just enough to fool outsiders, though he remains a tad bit nervous. If it were just Ezio, sure no problem since he knows the guy's head so well by now, but he's more worried about being able to conceal his identity from someone like La Volpe. The man is alert as hell, and that's practically his only setting. "Though I don't see how it really matters where I came from, since I haven't been there in years."

Ezio is the next to intervene, undoubtedly curious about the direction the conversation was leading,"What brought you here?" There's real interest in his eyes, but caution as well. Ezio usually doesn't come off as the sort of guy who suspects spies in his midst, but perhaps Desmond's complete trashing of those soldiers earlier may have been pushing it a little. You normally wouldn't expect that type of fighting unless someone was thoroughly trained in the art of combat. Which, Desmond was, if in a rather unorthodox fashion. Still, this question isn't as tough as the first.

Desmond's able to answer that one without skipping a beat, "Ran away from home naturally." The Master Assassin falls silent in response, unable or unwilling to pursue the subject of his home life any further, which the younger man is silently grateful for.

"You are surprisingly light for a Syrian," La Volpe continues curiously, and by this point Ezio is silent, shifting his gaze back and forth between the two of them while his friend continues his interrogations.

Desmond replies with a hard smile that conveys anything but happiness, "I had the misfortune of taking after my English father. Bastard doesn't even know I exist." Silently, he allows himself tiny small apology to his dad for replacing him with another imaginary father who happens to be an asshole without peer. He's almost a little proud when the master thief hesitates with his questioning, as though he's pried too far into his fake life. "Look, since we've all gotten to know each other so well already, we might as well introduce ourselves, right?" Desmond says, shaking off his cold tone, "That's what people do when they're chased halfway across a capital for no good reason, right?" Ezio is about to open his mouth to interrupt with something, but the younger man beats him to it, "You two can call me Adam al-Amin, or maybe just Adam if you really want to."

He listened to them introduce themselves, with the title of Assassin missing in a way that wouldn't have felt off if Desmond hadn't already known who they were. He wondered at what point in Ezio's stay in Rome he was currently in, and if the Brotherhood had already actively recruiting citizens. On one hand, Desmond thinks no since this is apparently the first time Ezio has met up with La Volpe in the city, but perhaps he's already considered the idea. Argued about it with Machiavelli about it or some such.

"It seems I was wrong about you, after all," Ezio says, and now he just sounds tired, rather than irritable like he was earlier. "I'll not take up any more of your time...Adam." The Assassin in white turns to leave, and Desmond suddenly feels the possibilities he hadn't considered before, and rises from the bench quickly in response. La Volpe gives him an odd stare and follows after Ezio, speaking to him urgently.

The message in the Vault is still very clear to him: an offer to return home. It's an offer that is both tempting and repelling at the same time. Desmond hadn't wanted to even think about the idea before, but now that he had come into contact with his Italian ancestor, it was like the meeting had forced him to remember some of the important things that he thought he'd left behind. Abstergo wasn't the only thing that the future contained; his friends and family were there too, and if there was a possibility of seeing them again...

Or hell, even if they were fine, he just wasn't made for this century. Desmond thought of a lot of things he'd wanted in his own time and never had. Or never gotten to appreciate.

Or maybe just one good slap across Juno's ancient face. He could appreciate that.

In reality, his mind still wasn't made up. Desmond still possessed no love of the life Assassins led and no desire to take lives for the sake of 'something greater.' And he had no wish to be used again by Templars, Assassins, or even the First Civ, even if it meant he'd have to be the one doing the using.

Either way, he was told to 'seek the Pieces,' which had to be the Pieces of Eden. Of course, Ezio was the one who ended up obtaining the Apple and locking it away within the Colosseum. If Desmond stuck with him, he'd eventually get a chance to try to achieve his own goals. For that reasons and that reason alone, he supposed he could be convinced to take up the mantle of an Assassin again, even if it was just for this short time in Rome. Ezio didn't need him to stop the Templars here, that was clear from the beginning, though how much he could stand to ignore Rome's plight was beginning to wear on him.

But his future was still calling.

Desmond cast one more glance to the north, considering his desires on a mental scale, and it's startlingly clear which one weighs on him the heaviest. Besides, its not like the Assassins (or Templars either, come to think about it) were capable of tracking him the way it was done in the modern age. He could run any time he wanted to, give up on these thoughts of returning home to his own time, but this was one chance could easily pass him by and likely would not come around a second instance.

He speaks up before his opportunity can disappear into the big city once more, "Ezio, wait!" The hooded Assassin paused as Desmond marched up to him, a hesitant smile on his face, "So...about that chase... You guys just might have piqued my interest. Just a bit."

"You are sure? Not too long ago, you seemed..."

Desmond simply waves off his complaints; hasn't Ezio ever been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth, or was that expression something that even existed in this day and age? "Let's just say it's the first time in a long while someone's been able to chase me down. Impressive work, really, and I might be convinced to hear you out...

So...Tell me more about this greater cause of yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been editing this one for a while now, I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but screw it-I'm moving on. Maybe I'll fix up a little bit more later.  
> Hey, at least we have a-frustrated-Ezio now. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> ~~Honestly, I just want to write Desmond trolling Machiavelli.~~  
> 


	4. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so much longer, I had to do some research.  
> And by research I mean replaying portions of Brotherhood so I could plan out story events for the near future.

 

Ezio's attitude had made a total flip the moment Desmond agreed to finally hear him out, though he can't help but wonder if Master Assassin was more interested in the asset of his fighting abilities or being able to prove a point. The outpost in Rome was in dire need of aid, not just from those who were already affiliated with the Brotherhood, but people on the outside as well.

_\--'Killing one man would not change anything. We need to take away the source of their power.'--_

Yes, that was the idea he used. Instead of simply fighting their own battles independently, Ezio decided that it would be more effective to appeal to the will of the populace itself. It was as though his success at roping another man into his cause had encouraged him that the mission wasn't impossible.

Well, it was _never_ impossible, but that was beside the point anyway.

The older man had snagged a pair of horses for him and his apparent new recruit on the journey back to the hideout, attempting to quiz Desmond on where he learned his climbing skills while the other tried to subtly deflect him. He couldn't think up any really good excuses for his proficiency in that specific area quite yet. His curiosity about Desmond's abilities was hardly convenient. If it wasn't the freerun chase they had, it was the beat down in the alleyway or if he knew anything about the old Syrian Assassins. The man had told a lot of untruths in his life, but Ezio was starting to make him set a record.

Thankfully, the Master Assassin either hadn't noticed or didn't care about the similarities between them, though knowing Ezio's personality, it was more likely that he didn't notice. Besides, there was about fifteen years age difference between them, not to mention Ezio sported longer hair and an actual beard to help hide the resemblances. Otherwise, Desmond was sure there would be even more questions to evade, if that was even possible at this point.

Really, what he was more concerned with was controlling the horse; it was one of those abilities he knew _how_ to do, but actually putting knowledge into action was something else. It didn't help that apparently horses seemed to especially hate him, and Desmond had no idea how to calm it down since there weren't really any temperamental horses in the Animus. Well, unless you wanted to count the glitches as temperamental.

Ezio had pulled to a stop, watching him with a slowing building concern that did nothing help his companion's growing temper, "Do you not ride often, Adam?"

As if it wasn't so obvious.

"اللعنة على هذه الحيوانات الغبية!" Desmond yelled and tightened his hold on the reigns when the animal bucked again, nearly throwing him off the saddle. The older Assassin simply quirked a brow and stared at him, and the twenty-five year old couldn't help but wonder if the other knew enough about the language he'd just unconsciously blurted out to understand what those words were. By this point, his ineptitude with a horse and foreign cursing had drawn the attention of onlookers whose expressions seemed to be -on the whole- caught between confused and pitying. As if perfectly aware of how much a fool he was starting to look like, the accursed horse took the opportunity to start throwing it's head up and down violently and walking in reverse. "Fuckin' hell..." Desmond muttered under his breath, this time communicating his profanities in English, and gave a small sigh of defeat as he started to dismount. Screw this animal, he was better off walking, no matter how tired he was.

"Adam, wait, I'll show you how it's done," Ezio interrupted him before the man could touch the ground, finally taking pity on him enough to actually step in and help. At least he wasn't sitting around staring at him like everyone else on the streets. Desmond was almost wondering whether he had been intending on just letting him suffer. Ezio calmed the beast of burden with quiet reassurances and an open palm flattened against the horse's forehead, while the younger man watched the actions carefully, digesting what he was seeing for later use. He needed to know this if it arose again.

"That looked...easier than I expected it to be," Desmond admitted slowly as the animal began to still.

Ezio stepped away, climbing back onto his own saddle with a smile, "Be confident and in control, and the horse will know. Keep your eyes on your destination and the rest will come naturally." The fact that this was probably basic knowledge stung a little, but Desmond was thankful to have it all the same.

However, in spite of the annoyance caused by his ride, the man found that the animal's acting up had come as a sort of blessing in disguise. After Ezio had lent his aid in taming the horse, he seemed to have been too suffiently distracted to start interrogating him again. Most of the rest of their trip was spent in relative silence, with the exception of the Master Assassin dropping information occasionally about his place in the Assassins and their ongoing fight against the Borgia.

"Ah, we arrive at last. This is _Isola Tiberina,_ Adam, our Brotherhood's safe haven against the Borgia _bastardi._ Though hopefully, I think, not the last." Ezio's general attitude is rather headstrong and the younger man instantly realizing dubbing him an optimist was the right idea after all.

As the two of them crossed the bridge to Tiber Island, Desmond was struck by the total lack of guards patrolling the area, a detail which had never stood out very much to him before. The amount of people coming back and forth over the water below ensured that the island was popular, but the Borgia presence seemed restricted to just outside the perimeter. "It doesn't look like you guys get a lot of problems with the guards around here. I don't see any except for on the outskirts."

"True, I'd imagine that must be Machiavelli's work," Ezio eyed the empty rooftops appreciatively, dismounting and leading Desmond down a short set of stairs to an unassuming doorway in the largest building. The shadows drifting down from either side of the entrance were repelled by twin torches, but otherwise the plain decor gave no clue about the building's true purpose. "He deals with many of our more...official visitors. Perhaps one of them could have warned the guards to stay away from this place," In spite of his explanation, the Assassin acted doubtful about his words.

"Is something wrong? You seem upset..." The 'recruit' said, expecting there to be a catch somewhere.

"No, it is simply something La Volpe imparted to me earlier. _Mi dispiace,_ this is not the place for this conversation. We will speak on it at a later date," Ezio quickly changes the subject, and places his hand flat against the surface of the doorway. He waits until Desmond gives him a small nod of confirmation and moves to the handle to open the way.

The Assassin's headquarters on Tiber Island was larger than Desmond had remembered it from the Animus, and the sheer amount of empty space remaining in the art room and the armory did nothing to help in that regard. Whenever he thinks of them in his mind, the young man remembers a hall covered in massive paintings of slain targets who proved to be found wanting in the face of Ezio's ability as an Assassin. Also, a room filled with glittering swords and crushing hammers laying alongside meticulously arranged sets of armor. Now, there's practically nothing at all, and Desmond can't stop himself from feeling a wave of disappointment seeing that's _all_ there is.

Maybe he can apply the same idea to the Roman Brotherhood itself, stripped of anything but a highly ranked assassin and his most trusted confidants. Only time and effort would build it into something more grand and powerful, which Desmond was only hesitantly getting personally involved in.

The stark contrast between the Assassins of the fifteen-sixteenth century and the commune he grew up in is painfully obvious. Desmond finds that his past has more similarities to the rigid structure of the Levantine Assassins before Altaïr reformed them than the relatively carefree lifestyle Ezio enjoyed for about seventeen years. Things did go downhill for him soon after that point yes, but the early days of Ezio Auditore were everything that a young, rich playboy could dream of.

It's completely impossible not to feel jealous of those seventeen years.

"When you are not sent for a mission, you may return here, to rest and study," Ezio gestures at the miniature library of books prepared for just some an occasion, many of them focusing on combat techniques, tips for remaining incognito, and world geography for travel. The 'recruit' allows his eyes to linger on the rolls of maps lining the shelves before moving on.

"What will you be having me do first?"

The Master Assassin leads him down to the lower levels, and Desmond catches glimpses of ornate flags emblazoned with the Assassins' symbol. He can't help but remember Masayaf, with the Brotherhood's flags displayed prominently in a light breeze, pride heavy in their bearing.

"Getting you what you need. The two things no Assassin will go without, his robes and his blade," The man explains quickly and all his guest can think is that he doesn't want a set of flashy Roman robes like the ones Ezio was given. And the reminder that he already has his own hidden blade means that using a second one will mean watching his moves so that he doesn't switch to dual-wielding by mistake.

Desmond was mostly silent when Ezio directed him to the storage room, not trusting himself to blurt out anything unnecessary and blow his cover, especially since his knowledge of a new recruit's briefing is vague at best. He had never relived those memories and relaxed into the role of a nervous student so that his ancestor could take the reins. Which was only slightly bizarre seeing as how Desmond already knew every skill the older man ever learned in the Brotherhood, if only just in his head.

He noticed that the Master Assassin gives a great deal more details after they had retreated to the safety of the hideout, after which the new arrival is given the grand treatment, speaking on the purpose and meaning that the Brotherhood was so intrinsically linked to. He can't help but compare Ezio's description to others' he's known, both through the connection of the Animus, and the experiences he's had growing up and finds that the Master Assassin has one of the most ideal attitudes for recruitment. He's young and enthusiastic enough to draw in the more passionate followers, while being experienced enough to calm any nervous tension. It's easy to see now, talking to him face-to-face, why Ezio was chosen to take over the position as Mentor. Not simply by accomplishments, but also through the charisma that convinced people to help rebuild the order.

Desmond listens to the rundown while Ezio digs through the storage room and lifts out a set of gray and white recruit robes that the younger man immediately takes a liking to. They're much simpler and not nearly as flashy as the gear his ancestor wears all the time, with only some additions of detail here and there that indicate what time period it was made in. Desmond removed the cape over his shoulder so that he could affix it to the outside of the white gear; he'd grown fond of it enough to risk standing out. The robes are pulled on over his clothes quickly and a moment later Ezio is handing him a hidden blade attached to a fairly intricate leather gauntlet. Keeping in mind that there is already an Assassin's blade on his right, the man fixes his new weapon to his left side, hoping that no one will comment on it.

Thankfully Ezio doesn't mention it, but continues on with his explanation with an attempt at a "no nonsense" attitude. Desmond wondered if he was remembering the days when uncle Mario explained the history of the Brotherhood to him over twenty years ago. He talks about a struggle between Assassins and Templars that was many centuries old, the skills passed down from generations to generation, and an abridged version of his own induction into the Brotherhood.

But Desmond has been through all of this information before and can adapt. Out of all of the ancestors lives he's relived, he has spent the most amount of time following Ezio. They're related (distantly) and they're both trained as Assassins, but it's difficult for Desmond to relate to him otherwise. Ezio's passion, desire for revenge, and sense of devotion to the Brotherhood make them very different, but the younger man still has a role to play and has to try his best to fit in now.

"You're more attentive than I gave you credit for, _recluta._ Now, one final thing before we move on to a more hands-on approach...I need to make sure you really were paying attention. Try to recite the three tenants you heard in my explanation," Ezio is pacing the polished floors of the hall as though he's no long able to sit still, but his gaze never leaves that of the new trainee.

Desmond can't help the slow smile spreading across his face as he gives out his answers , holding up a finger for each one of the three he speaks,

"One: stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent.

Two: hide in plain sight, become one with the crowd.

And, of course Three: never do anything to endanger the Brotherhood."

He suppresses the reactionary frown before it can appear on his face and tip off the Master Assassin, sensing the hidden power held within those few sentences. They suddenly begin to feel less like rules, and more like a promise the moment he spoke them out loud. Important and valuable. Something that is too cruel to simply break. Desmond tried not to worry about those feelings regardless; he never had any intention of breaking the tenants in any situation whether not he decided to stay.

Thankfully, Ezio doesn't manage to catch his vague sense of unease and claps him on the shoulder, "Well done, Adam. Now we can move on to-"

Suddenly, both men freeze as the sound of the hideout's entrance opening catches their ears and Ezio is startled to find Machiavelli striding down the hall towards them. Desmond stepped back at the sight; had La Volpe already said something to place doubt on the man? Was that why Ezio seemed more alert to his presence? Though, either way, it was highly doubtful that Machiavelli would be very happy to see a stranger in the Sanctuary. Wearing Assassin robes nonetheless!

"Ezio you have returned than I expected. Did you bring any helpful news from our other contacts-" The man came to a halt the moment his gaze locked on them, face sharpening into a familiar frown, "Care to enlighten me as to the identity of your friend, Ezio? Or shall I guess?"

"Machiavelli. This is Adam al-Amin. I ran into him in northern Centro district and we ended up coming to an agreement," The Master Assassin is practically ecstatic, nearly succumbing to a less than mature grin at the idea of going against the other Assassin's opinions. Thus it wasn't as though Desmond could really begrudge him that; he wasn't the biggest fan of Machiavelli either. At least he wasn't the traitor he was alleged to be, otherwise this would be a lot more complicated than it had to be.

Ezio was given a withering look, as if utterly frustrated by the fact that the man had gone behind his back and just inducted another Assassin into the Brotherhood, "I don't believe it. You actually went and did it. And does this 'Adam' know the basics of combat?"

"I'm standing right here, y'know... Why don't you just ask me?" Desmond crossed his arms and waited, a twinge of annoyance surfacing in his mind, but Ezio decided to speak up before there could be a reply.

"Trust me on this Machiavelli. I saw what he did to the guards and I know that we need this. You know that we do as well. At least give me a chance to prove it," The impassion voice of the Master Assassin was moving and the recruit in question found himself nodding too, hoping this wasn't a waste of time. Desmond watched them with a firm gaze, frustrated that he might be about to be denied after all the arguments he had to use on himself to convince him to go ahead with this path. He already knew he was qualified if he had Ezio's approval, but convincing this man was a bit tougher to pull off.

After a pause that seemed much longer than it actually was, Machiavelli sighed and rubbed at his forehead in an expression of defeat, "Fine then Ezio. I'll do this your way for now and allow it." Then, before the Assassin could look to pleased with his success, the man continued on, "But just remember to deal with our primary contacts first before you pursue another possible recruit for the Brotherhood, alright? Which one of them is the next on the list that you were planning on speaking to?"

"The _mercenari_ barracks... I heard that they are busy dealing with the French and the Borgia at the same time, this one ought to be considerably more...messy. Adam, I need you to stay here in the meantime while I try to clean up this situation. We'll get to the training once the major issues are out of the way," Ezio's departure is just long enough for Desmond to throw a 'good luck' after him when he leaves, no doubt off to save a rather gung-ho mercenary from being crushed between two different armies before it's too late. Thus the young man is stuck in the Tiber Island Sanctuary until his ancestor returns with no one to talk to besides a stuffy Assassin who currently seemed to be more interested in reading than paying any attention to him whatsoever.

Peh, two could play at that game.

Desmond pointedly ignored Machiavelli as he resumed Ezio's earlier rifling through the room until he found a pair of simplistic but sturdy swords, modeled in a similar to that of the blades he remembered seeing in Altaïr's memories. The seemed well-honed, not that he was very knowledgeable in that subject anyway, and the dust lining the hilts showed their undeniable age. As the young man turned them over in his hands, he suddenly happened upon an idea to pass the time waiting for Ezio. Desmond picked out two of them that seemed to be especially dusty and in need of a good sharpening and walked over to the other Assassin with a smile prickling at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Machiavelli!" The book was shut and the man fixed him with a neutral stare, shifting in his seat as Desmond held out one of the blades to him, pommel first. "You mind having a good spar?"

* * *

 

Ezio Auditore didn't know which was more shocking to him, the fact that he'd happened across a skilled recruit so early into his stay in Roma, or that Bartolomeo D'Alviano was married to an actual woman.

She was an intelligent one at that, giving him information about their fight in a more objectively satisfying manner than what her husband had offered. Pantasilea told Ezio that if he were to deal with the Borgia front himself, then Bartolomeo's troops would be able to handle the French side with little to no problems. They both agreed that there was no need to go into details to Bartolomeo about it.

And in no time at all the attack was at hand, swords clashing against axe and mace with a cacophony that left the Assassin only enough focus to search for the Borgia captain. The moment he caught sight of that recognizable white helm and cape, dashing after the man in pursuit as he fled back to the safety of the fortified tower. If he were escape now, the defense would be a failure and the combined army would be free to unleash another two sided attack on his allies in the future. This could not be allowed.

Ezio caught the captain from the high ground, forcing the other off his feet with sheer force and momentum, not hesitating an instant to slide the hidden blade down into the soldier's heart from behind. The instant the captain's death was witnessed by Borgia soldier's they began to pull back from the fray, leaving the remainder of the French brigade to falter at the hands of _mercenari._ A full retreat followed soon after, Ezio sending a knowing gaze at Pantasilea while her husband laughed heartily at the enemies who had finally decided to turn tail.

Pantasilea took him aside then and showed the Assassin a map of the city, overlaid with various letters detailing names and locations of Borgia agents who needed to be disposed of. "Contracts such as these can be relayed via any one of the coops around Roma, so be sure to use them whenever needed."

"I'll get right on it, _madonna,_ " Ezio flashed her his trademark, charming smile which the affected the woman very little, and straightened to his feet. "Give my regards to Bartolomeo!"

And then he was gone, _borrowing_ a horse and racing to fulfill the nearest of the contracts that he had acquired access to, but the issue of La Volpe's warning was still weighing on him greatly. He did not believe the man to be a traitor at all, even if his attitude often came off as cynical and harsh. Assassins came in many differnt backgrounds and behaviors, but they were allies to him nonetheless. But in order to calm the suspicion of the thief, Ezio needed to find proof that he wasn't guilty so that they could work together and put this behind them. The Brotherhood was far from functional if two of the most senior members in Roma were far from cooperating properly and suspecting one another of betrayal.

At the very least, he could try to return to the hideout to see how Machiavelli was making progress with the _recluta_. The young man was...off. He spoke and acted in an unusual manner he didn't recognize. Ezio hadn't seen much of his fighting style, but little he had was more than enough to dispatch rank and file Borgia guards, so he wasn't an amateur rebel. With this in mind, the Master Assassin made his way back to _Isola Tiberina_ via the closest undergound entrance, not stopping for a detour this time around.

However, when Ezio opened the grating of the hideout's tunnel and stepped into the sanctuary, he was surprised to hear the clashing of sword blades and immediately ran down to find the source. But whatever he was expecting to find as the cause, it certainly wasn't this.

Machiavelli and Adam were sparring on the lowest level of the hideout, fighting with vigor as though trying to kill one another, though the most unobservant could see that the blades were dull. The Leader of Roma was still maintaining his focused and neutral stare, if only barely, if the sparks of frustration filtering through were anything to go by. And Adam was...smiling, but not in the way he'd expected to see. It wasn't the careless grin Ezio had seen before, but rather a calm, practiced look that he swore he'd seen somewhere else before.

In contrast to his expression, Adam's fighting style was incredibly erratic and unpredictable, switching his stance every few moments in a way that would trip up all but the more experienced swordsmen. If the bruises on both of them were any proof, the style had already shown to be effective. And he possessed this odd sort of...spin technique to dodge out of the way of his opponent's counter-attacks; Ezio had ever seen such a thing before in battle. "Ezio?" However, the moment that the apparently skilled new addition saw him, the illusion was broken and he hesitated long enough for Machiavelli to take advantage of the opening and smack him with the flat of the blade.

"This is ridiculous... Ezio, where did you find this man?" Machiavelli sheathed the dull blade and set aside while Adam nurses his bruises and looked distinctly sulky.

"I told you, we ran into each other near the northern gate. Why do you ask?"

The resonse is immediate, "Because I won't have him as a _recluta."_

Adam jumped to his feet, dropping the sword at his side with a clatter, "Whoa, whoa, wait! Didn't I just prove myself?"

Machiavelli shook his head and sighed, "You misunderstand. You're obviously too well trained for me to catagorize you as such. I don't know where you learned this...style of yours, Adam, but I will admit that it is effective." The man rubbed at a bruise on his chin and grumbled something under his breath before continuing, "Because of that, I'm raising your rank to _milite._ See that you receive the equipment for your promotion tomorrow." Machiavelli left them then with Adam staring after him in shock.

"What just happened, Ezio? Please tell me."

"I think you just made a friend, Adam," The laugh he released then was well worth the annoyed stare Ezio received as a reply. This was going to be interesting indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"اللعنة على هذه الحيوانات الغبية!" ='Damn this stupid animal!
> 
> \--Desmond's ineptitude with horses comes from the many glitches I have experienced with them in the games. Glitchy bastards. Well, if I had my way, he'd be on a unicorn. God damn it, that is still my favorite cheat.  
> And the chapter name directly reflects my attitude while writing it. I just wanted to finish it already.


	5. Warnings and Brothels Don't Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“With a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit 'em right between the eyes,"_   
>  _\--You're Gonna Go Far, Kid, The Offspring_
> 
>  
> 
> -We can't predict the future and sometimes the past is just as mysterious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware this chapter is short, but I couldn't think of a way to extend it without sounding awful. Besides, the new chapter is probably going to be very long, so I couldn't wedge them together.  
> Ah, this is what I get for working on multiple stories at once, they all get progressed slower.

The very evening of Desmond being officially accepted into the Brotherhood of Rome, the storage room came open once again in what the ever curt Mentor could describe as "far too quickly for a new recruit." The promotion to _milite_ came with a set of leather greaves and gauntlets, along with a considerably sharp, curved dagger that nearly disappeared into the robes the instant he sheathed it. He hadn't known exactly what went on with the recruits while Ezio wasn't sending them on missions or using them as his personal army but, apparently Machiavelli oversaw most of their training and teachings. Or at least, he assumed that he wasn't being given any kind of special treatment from them just because he was early. And that was fine by him.

Desmond came to learn that while Ezio was charismatic and a master of combat, Machiavelli was well-versed with politics and was absent from the Sanctuary in meetings with powerful officials outside of the Brotherhood almost as often as the Master Assassin was busy. So on days where the man wasn't present, he would have to find other things to take up his time. The young man entertained himself with the maps on hand outside of sparring lessons, fascinated by the conspicuously missing sections where the Americas would be eventually placed. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to calm his nerves.

The next few days were blessedly empty of any strange dream like the one that Desmond had experienced before, though he couldn't help but wonder if there was some other meaning to it that he had overlooked. There was something he was missing there, a piece of the puzzle that had slipped him, and maybe if the dreams started again, he would find a clue to the mystery.

Desmond went a grand total of two days in the Sanctuary following his sudden promotion before Machiavelli had declared him to be 'too restless' and kicked him out to go and assist Ezio. He followed the older Assassin's trail across the city, pleased to at least get out in the open air for some actual action, and tried to recall what the man's current mission was so he'd know how to react. Thankfully, Desmond was reminded that there was still one of the three major contacts that Ezio hadn't met up with yet, and that was the leader of Rome's courtesans.

Of course, it wouldn't be that woman who would be leading them by the end of the day.

But he knew that it would never be quite so simple to navigate the complex layout of the city, relying on his admittedly jarred memory of Ezio's explorations of Rome during his stay in Montegerrioni. The easiest method of navigating and making good time to the brothel was across the roof tops, but as it turned out, this ended up unintentionally placing a big target on his back as well. Only a few minutes or so into his trek passed and Desmond could hear the distinct sound of shoes tapping on shingles somewhere behind him, following his movements and keeping pace with the man's speed with ease. He was torn between turning back suddenly and confronting his pursuer to see who they were or trying to make it back to a crowded area where he was unlikely to be attacked.

However, with the unknown person behind him gaining in speed, Desmond realized that outrunning him was impossible and skidded to a halt. He threw himself to the side, expecting an attack at his back and rolled to a stop with his hidden blade ready, only to sheathe it again slowly when the man saw who it had been following him.

La Volpe was standing about a meter away with a small smirk on his face, crossing his arms slowly as he considered the recruit's attire, "I see they accepted you faster than I would have expected, especially for Machiavelli..." The thief paused and gave Desmond a sharp look that anyone would have recognized as dangerous, "You have surprisingly quick reflexes for a man who has only been with the Brotherhood for the time span of a few days."

Oh, right. He was the suspicious one. "Just what are you suggesting?"

The older man held up his hands in a placating manner, "Nothing you need to worry about, young man. I will admit that I was...concerned when Ezio informed me of the skills you possess, but your meeting was coincidental. Not only that, he even said you quickly ran away from him when first confronted. I thought to ask as favor from you," In spite of his words, the thief's words were sharp and his smile still appeared suspicious. Desmond tried not to let his worry show; had he screwed up somewhere?

"Well, shoot, I just joined the Brotherhood. I don't exactly have much of a choice here."

"Ah, very true. Recently, we've been experiencing...leaks in our security. I want to know if you've discovered anyone who might be responsible." Which of course translated to 'I know you've been with Machiavelli. Happen to witness any traitorous actions from him?'

Desmond knew the face of the man who was actually the spy, but he had no idea how to give it away without blowing his cover. At the very least, he could try to take some of the heat off of Machiavelli's shoulders; the guy was kind of stiff, but ultimately he was innocent. "I haven't seen anything bad, if that's what you mean. The Sanctuary was quiet for two days, I can't say anything about elsewhere though," The man kept his tone neutral and tried to shrug off his unease with little success; La Volpe's unusual gaze was more unnerving than he expected.

"Well, the Sanctuary may have not been the best place to catch them, still..." The man trailed off thoughtfully, his violet eyes flashing briefly in the light. "Since you are not there now, I imagine you've been given a mission."

"Uh yeah, I was told to assist Ezio for now until our operations are more...united."

" _Bene,_ it is good to see that you are already aiding the Brotherhood. I'll not take up any more of your time, Adam. We'll speak again some other time. Safety be upon you," La Volpe was turning to leave, but Desmond could still feel the other man's attention like a brand; he certainly didn't know who he was and he didn't raise any objections against him joining the Assassins, but the thief definitely suspected something.

There had to be something he could say that would help– Oh. Before La Volpe could leave, Desmond raised his voice so the man would pause in his tracks, "ويمكنك كذلك، شقيق." He stopped only long enough to see the Assassin's face before running off once more, not at all looking forward to the day when the thief finally decided to start prying into his secrets. Ezio was bad enough, but he really didn't need someone that alert watching him for mistakes all the time. 

After a cautious glance to make sure the thief wasn't following him anymore, Desmond picked up his pace, dropping from the roofs and ducking around passerby to reach his destination quickly. As soon as the buildings became less packed together and the heavy scent of the Tiber river filled the air, the young man spotted the eye-catching building rising into view on the horizon, its worn surfaces serving as a testament to the adjustments that had yet to be done. The Rose in Fiore, actually something of a mess at the moment, the third and last of the Master Assassin's primary contracts and then the real problems could be tackled.

Desmond didn't hesitate to approach the door, knocking loudly to draw attention necessary to get the entrance to open, with a single young woman staring at him expectantly. "Would you like to come in and enjoy yourself, sir?"

"No, I'm looking for one Ezio Auditore. Um, he should have come by trying to talk to the person who leads things here. Did he already come by here?" He tried not to see past her into the brothel's interior, where the revelry was already in full swing. The young man knew enough that daring to get involved here could result in some really horrible consequences, like world breaking paradoxes and deadly diseases that couldn't be cured. But it was annoying to him nonetheless, seeing all of this temptation but unable to do anything about it.

"Oh, he already left. Are you a friend of his?" The woman drawled and Desmond paused, unsure of what to say until Ezio himself appeared in his peripheral vision, wet with river water and blood. The Assassin's frustration was clear on his face until he saw Desmond staring at him.

"Adam? I didn't expect to see you here. Does that mean that Machiavelli is here too, or-"

"Nope, just me," The younger man shrugged casually, and fished for an explanation that wouldn't sound like, 'Just got kicked out.' "I got sent out to check on your progress."

"We may have...run into a big problem," Ezio frowned and shook his head, leading Desmond around to the balcony at the back of the brothel, where a couple of girls where waiting for him.

One of them approached slowly, looking a little hopeful, " _Messere,_ where you able to get to her?"

"She's dead," Ezio said bluntly, without any hesitation. Instantly after the man's announcement as to their leader's passing, the courtesans' faces grew much more serious in tone, though not with any real sadness. The closest of the group of women let a coarse "Shit" fall passed her lips before falling completely silent again. "Now what? Without her, how will the courtesans be able to operate?"

The next few moments passed in a blur for the both of them as Claudia and Maria Auditore stepped up to claim leadership over the Rose in Fiore, thus reigniting their power within the Brotherhood again. Ezio definitely didn't approve of the idea, but he was overruled and lost in the logic battle, and he knew it full well too. Desmond was more concerned with the tense glares the siblings were throwing back and forth at each other than the prospect of having more allies at the ready, even if he didn't mention it out loud. Thankfully, he had managed to stay relatively under the radar if front of the Master Assassin's sister thus far, right up until the dust settled and she finally decided point him out.

"So, who's your new sidekick, brother?" The sudden words left Ezio somewhat embarrassed to have not mentioned him earlier, and Desmond was at a loss as to whether he should feel insulted or not.

"Ah, this is Adam al-Amin. I recruited him a few days ago... Had to chase him down though..."

"You know you owe La Volpe for that," Desmond told him, some small piece of pride left in him saying that he didn't want Ezio giving the impression that he was easily caught. Especially not in front of his sister of all people. The young man had apparently earned the trust (outwardly at least) of Ezio, Machiavelli and La Volpe, with Claudia and Bartolomeo as the last ones to convince. Though he didn't think he was going to have a problem deceiving the mercenary; no harm being cautious anyway. The less amount of people suspicious of his background, the better.

Thankfully, Claudia just laughed and said, "Well, I would have paid to see that."

The group quickly wrapped up their business and parted ways, with Desmond trailing uncertainly after the Master Assassin, eager to get out of the brothel before he started feeling any more uncomfortable than he already was. However, this time Ezio picked up it, coming to a stop and giving him an odd look that the younger Assassin didn't like at all. "Adam, have you never been to a brothel before?" The man even had the nerve to look amused and Desmond was suddenly filled with the compulsion to hit him with something. Leave it to a hormone crazed Auditore to poke into his business about 'experience' of all things, and like hell he was getting a detailed answer.

"I don't see why it matters," Desmond dropped the words and hoped that would be the end of it.

Naturally, Ezio wasn't easily dissuaded and didn't take the hint, "So does that mean you haven't..."

"I've slept with people, okay Ezio? Now, please just drop it," There was a blank silence in response and the man was happy that the Assassin didn't press any further. The last thing he wanted to talk about in a brothel was his sex life in front of a damn Assassin Casanova. There were only so many blows to his pride he could take with this guy and that was not one of them. Though if Ezio's expression was anything to go by, he wasn't even slightly regretful of interrogating him.

They made the trek back to the Tiber Island hideout to inform Machiavelli, taking a route almost entirely over the rooftops, to avoid another issue with the horses that Desmond still hadn't mastered. He was keenly aware of Ezio watching his progress, probably catching on to how experienced he was at this. Desmond knew the topic would crop up sooner or later and he had to fill in the gaps in his story.

However, he quickly put it out of mind as they arrived at the Assassin headquarters to find Machiavelli waiting for them, and Ezio gave him a summary of their dealings with the courtesans. "I see. Still, with all three of our contacts united in the Brotherhood, I believe its time we struck back at our enemies. We'll gather the others here and discuss our plan of attack for tomorrow," The ever curt leader scribbled down an identical message on three different notes and attached them to the legs of carrier pidgeons waiting on the cage on the desk. Ezio nodded in agreement, watching as they were set loose.

Desmond wasn't expecting to be involved with the mission (he wasn't supposed to be), but as Machiavelli moved off, Ezio took him aside to talk. "Listen, Adam. This mission is bound to be challenging, anything could go wrong. I want to get in and out of that fortress undetected, but there's a possibility that won't go as planned. I need you prepared to cover me, _capisci?_ "

Wait, this wasn't right!

"Yeah, I got it. You can...count on me," Desmond answered, trying not to appear to nervous. What was this? Ezio was supposed to undertake the infiltration alone, so did that mean he had managed to change something already? But there was nothing he could about it now.

The most Desmond could was hope he hadn't royally screwed something up.

And if he had, could it be fixed?

　

　

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that I'm not recapping Brotherhood. Things have already been altered.


	6. Extraction and Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Everyone has a plan 'till they get punched in the mouth." --Mike Tyson

It was the day of determination, when the assassinations of Rodrigo and Cesare Borgia were supposed to take place, according to the Brotherhood anyway. The first of the faction leaders to arrive had been La Volpe, tailed by a few of his personal thieves, and throwing Desmond a meaningful look that the younger man made it a point to ignore him. Thankfully, man decided not to mention their meeting on the rooftops the previous day–yet anyway–and simply settled on just fixing Machiavelli with an intense stare.

Claudia and Maria arrived next, with the young women crossing the threshold without the need for an escort, and taking their places on the opposite side of the chamber as Ezio. The Assassin in question still looked annoyed about his family showing up there, but no one else seemed to bat an eye. Desmond was hoping that if anything had to change, it would be that Claudia and her brother would make up sooner or later. The woman really knew what she was doing too, even if Ezio didn't really want to believe it for himself.

Bartolomeo D' Alviano was on the brink of being late, a complement of mercenary guards following him up until the Sanctuary doors, where they remained outside to keep an eye on the perimeter. The man explained that Pantasilea had chosen to remain behind to manage the troops while he attended the meeting, and Desmond found himself wondering how that arrangement came to be. It must have taken some serious convincing to get the mercenary leader to go to a calm meeting instead of leading his troops like he was used to. Additionally, Bartolomeo was the only one of the major Assassin leaders that Desmond hadn't met face to face yet. Thankfully, the warrior was pretty up front and accepting of his presence in the Sanctuary, though the younger man could have done without the heavy thump on the back. He justified this by pointing out that if both Ezio and Machiavelli had no issue with him there, then he didn't mind the Brotherhood getting a new member either.

At least earning Bartolomeo's acceptance hadn't been as painful as Machiavelli's.

The crowd had gathered within the Sanctuary, projecting an aura that was almost as serious and somber as their faces, Assassins preparing for what they thought would be their biggest operation in Rome. Here, sheltered from the outside eyes of the common passerby, the expressions of the Brotherhood's members were more easily read, and there was not a single person there who was not considering the coming assassination with extreme caution.

For once, this also included Desmond, who was growing increasingly wary about the developments he wasn't expecting. His presence at the meeting for one thing, drew some unwanted glances, and the last thing he wanted was to be at the center of scrutiny.

Fortunately, the members of the gathered Brotherhood were far more concerned with the prospect of the coming assassination of their worst enemies than the quirks of their most recent addition, and the matter was dismissed. Machiavelli had gathered them all into a circle with him standing at the head, laying out the points of their coming plan with Ezio supporting as a right hand. Somehow, looking at the Auditore Assassin now–in person–it seemed like he was beginning to really step into Mario's shoes and take command, rather than the "hunts" Ezio embarked on when he was younger. But Desmond's attention was drawn back when the briefing for the mission was intricately laid out before them.

"Today is the day that Cesare and Rodrigo Borgia die by our hand. We all have our individual assignments," Machiavelli's voice was even more clear and concise as he stared them down carefully. "Ezio will be infiltrating the Castello personally."

Here, the Assassin in question stepped forward, indicating the Castello on the map laid on the office table. "There are two entrances to the stronghold. The main gate isn't an option because of the sheer number of guards would make a silent approach impossible, but it does present a possible escape route if I can acquire a horse for it. However, under the bridge and along the side of the Castello, there is another entrance over the water. The mass of the papal guard are positioned on the bridge and within the district; security will be considerably lighter on this side." He paused, glancing over at Desmond, and the younger man felt his nerves suddenly jump, "I can only guess what I'll run into in there. Adam, I want you to accompany me halfway, and take up a position above the main gate. From there, you can keep an eye on the guards and cover me when we make our escape. Understand?"

Right then. Being a lookout didn't seem like so bad a job. If all he had to do was stand guard and watch for enemies, then there wasn't much of a chance of him changing anything dramatically. He could use this chance to stay well back from the fighting and think over any future events that his presence would cause problems for. Desmond could handle that task just fine, and he confirmed as much with a sharp nod, no longer feeling quite as anxious as before.

The other man nodded as well, quickly redirecting his gaze to the other Assassins and questioning them, "I assume everyone else knows their roles as well?"

Bartolomeo grinned confidently and stepped forward, "We'll make sure that the Borgia don't receive any reinforcements. The _mercenari_ will keep those filthy French _bastardi_ at bay until you've dealt with the targets in the Castello." Machiavelli doesn't have the same kind of energy as Bartolomeo, but he nonetheless nods in time to the warrior's words, clearly possessing some of the same confidence the other man did.

"I've done my part as well," La Volpe spoke up smoothly, gesturing towards the two thieves from his faction who now stood near the entrance, trying to look imposing but not quite getting the image right. "We've plotted out a few possible routes through the interior of the Castello and taken the liberty of causing a series of government thefts around the city to distract much of the Borgia guard. Once outside over the bridge, it should be child's play to evade the soldiers and return to the Sanctuary." The thief's careful smile though, had a cautious quality to it that caused him to pause, "But I do advise you to prepare for anything."

Ezio thanked him with a voice that was much tenser than his usual tone, before assuring him that he would be anything but careless, and moved on to the next issue. "What about Caterina Sforza? We can't simply leave her..."

The man's sister shook her head, breaking Ezio of his thoughts and Desmond could practically sense how the tension increased when the two of them started to exchange words. Honestly, if there was anything he wouldn't mind fixing, it was this. He never had any siblings but it seemed like just owning up and apologizing would be better than letting feelings just continue to stew for so long. "The girls found out that Caterina has already been sequestered in the Castello as well," Claudia exchanged a look with her mother and continued, "I highly doubt she is in good condition after the time she's spent in Borgia hands though."

Ezio was about to reply, but Machiavelli cut in quickly before he could, "Regardless of Forli's lady, we know what our priorities are. Rescue the woman if you feel it is necessary, Ezio, but you must be sure to deal with Rodrigo and Cesare first." He placed his hand slowly down on the map with an air of decision, " _Andare nella vittoria_ ,* may the Borgia die this day." The Assassins made a lot agreements both verbal and silent in response to the man's declaration, all except for Desmond, who stood to the side guiltily about his knowledge of the results of this mission.

"We'd better get moving Adam," Ezio clapped him on the shoulder and waited a moment before the two of them moved out in the open air, leaving the rest of the Brotherhood to their own tasks. It was almost high noon, and the Master Assassin pointed out that the guards would be changing around the time they arrived. It was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate.

"Right, no time like the present, huh?" Desmond smirked, ignoring the other man's confused look this time and laughed at the irony of his own words. What a thing to say from a time traveler, or whatever the hell it was his situation involved.

They took horses again this time, with Desmond managing only marginally better than he did before, avoiding the guards' attention cautiously as they moved over the Tiber river bridge and through the packed streets. Unlike when Ezio had recruited him days prior, the pair rode onward in complete silence as the seriousness of their mission creating tension in different ways, but with a similar effect. It wasn't until they'd come into view of the great bridge and its stalwart line of Borgia soldiers that the two Assassins dismounted and left the horses behind, that the scion of the Auditore family decided to speak up again.

Ezio raised his hand and subtly pointed to the secured wood protrusions underneath the bridge, out of sight of any guards who happened to be patrolling above, "That right there is our way in, Adam. Until we arrive at the gate, we'll go the same direction, alright?" Desmond nodded a little stiffly and followed as the older man descended the stairs down to the water's edge, walking until the shadows from above blocked out their presence. Ezio made the first move, jumping to each wooden log gracefully with the younger Assassin following along behind, relying on the memory ingrained into him to balance his steps. One wrong move and he could fall into the water, and the noise could potentially break their element of surprise. The series of wood planks curved around to the right of the bridge, where it ended just beneath a useful gap in the Castello's fence.

Ezio carefully grabbed a hold of the ledge on the wall and slowly peered over just long enough to get a view of what was above. He turned to Desmond and silently held up three fingers, indicating just how many soldiers were currently on patrol duty. The man inched up and slipped into the hay cart that sat close to the ledge, waiting until on of the three men approached closely enough for him to yank him inside, leaving only two left on the farther side of the clearing. Ezio peeked out of the cart to see him waiting for the signal to attack.

It only took a moment. As the older Assassin lunged out of the cart, Desmond pulled himself over the ledge and bolted for the guards at the same time with hidden blades unsheathed for the kill. The men turned to see them but didn't even get the chance to issue a shout of surprise before their bodies were pierced, falling to the ground almost at the exact same time.

Desmond rose to his feet slowly, tracing along the primary blade on his arm shaking ever so slightly as he remembered the feeling of taking a life. It was poignant and startling in a way that the Animus would never be capable of emulating, and the warmth of real blood spotting his hands caused the man to freeze in his tracks before regaining control of himself again. They wasted no time in hiding the bodies in the same hay cart that Ezio had ambushed from previously, hopefully preventing any watchmen from immediately finding them as soon as the guard shift changed. He was hoping that Ezio hadn't seen his reaction to the handling of them, taking a deep breath and stepping away from the hiding spot to join the other by the piled crates that offered a pathway up the battlements. From there it was only a short distance to the point where they would split up, leaving the older Assassin to continue on alone.

"Doing alright, Adam?" Ezio asked him quietly, and Desmond nodded stiffly, his mouth set into a grim line in a serious expression he was unknowingly copying from Connor. _"Bene,_ we don't have much further to go now. Just over this wall and then I continue onward alone."

The two of them hauled themselves up the battlements, avoiding the watchful gaze of patrolling Borgia guards, until the subtle path branched off into a short climb into the Castello's center and the arch over the entrance. Desmond took a look at it and noticed the protrusions along the top arch he could conceal his presence behind from prying eyes. The two Assassins exchanged a resolute nod and split up, dashing in almost opposite directions to carry out their radically different missions, with the certainty that everything was proceeding smoothly.

Desmond didn't pause to watch Ezio depart and found himself scaling the stone wall where he could look out over the bridge below. According to the scouts La Volpe sent out, Borgia guards would make a sweep of the entire area, but thankfully the guard shifts wouldn't be changing for an hour at least; long enough for Ezio to get Catarina out before the sweep began. Until then, he could just wait where he was and get this day over with.

Desmond stared out over the horizon, trying to think about any other future events that might cause some problems for him down the line. He was reasonably sure nothing was going to go wrong here, but a near decade's worth of paranoia kept him on edge.

Maybe there was something he was overlooking.

But eventually as time began to pass onward, and the harsh edges of the stone walls starting digging into his back, the young man found himself trying to shift into a more comfortable position at what had to be the worst possible time for him. As the Assassin who was not quite in training stretched his limbs for a second, the heavy door behind him slammed open, followed instantly by the clattering noise of horses' hooves that startled him into alertness a moment too late. The shout of alarm from one of the mounted cavalrymen below brought the rest of their gazes to Desmond, who suddenly felt very less like a lookout and more like a sitting duck. For an instant, he locked eyes with the man who was at the lead of the group of guards and immediately knew that their plan had taken a certain nosedive.

Cesare Borgia took one look at the man dressed in Assassin garb and called for his soldiers to kill him.

Desmond took the opportunity to let several strings of English cursing fly.

* * *

To say that Ezio was worried about the newest Assassin was a bit of an understatement, but it was already far too late to do anything about it. Despite being skilled with both the blade and with navigation, it seemed far too early to include him on such a massive assignment, but the situation was desperate enough to warrant his help. Now as he measured his steps, cautiously making his way across the Castello, avoiding the many guards as they made their rounds back and forth, the Master Assassin had to put aside his personal concerns until he completed the mission. The sheer number of red-outfitted Borgia soldiers would be impressive to notice if Ezio weren't so focused on preventing them from seeing his passage.

After staying out of sight and eliminating a few guards who came a bit too close to catching a glimpse of him, Ezio climbed one of the surrounding buildings and made his way across an extending, wooden beam to the main tower. He allowed himself a few quick breaths before leaping across, catching himself on a protrusion on the tower; resting only a second or two before moving sideways along the stone wall to the next handhold. A few of the heavy masonry cracked subtly under his hands, but thankfully held firm and didn't crumble.

After a minute or so of scrambling along the wall and making his way slowly up the curving tower, Ezio grabbed a hold of the sill of a window, pausing when he heard voices coming from inside the room.

It was Lucrezia and Cesare Borgia discussing the capture of Catarina, and the man spoke confidently of a rise to power when he returned, and indicating that Rodrigo was not present in Roma either. But, when he returned? _"Damn, Machiavelli's not going to be very happy about this,"_ Ezio muttered under his breath as the two moved apart and went their separate ways, but at least he could concentrate on saving Catarina if the Borgias were already so fragmented. In fact, after witnessing Lucrezia attack the redhead in her cell, the Master Assassin was twice as determined to hurry up and help her out. As soon as the Borgia and her guard moved away, Ezio signaled to Catarina to attract her attention.

When she moved closer into the light, he could see how roughed up she was, and knew he had to hurry up and get her to safety before any more harm could be done. The worst was the heavy bruising around her legs and Ezio worried whether her injuries would make it too difficult to walk. "Ezio? You managed to get in here?" She didn't too surprised about it though.

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to get you out of here," He assured her confidently.

"Ezio, Lucrezia's the one with the key. I don't think that there's a duplicate," Catarina paused, glancing somewhere over her shoulder before turning back. "You'll have to bring her down here," The Assassin nodded and started to move, but she stopped him with another sentence, "Did you bring the other Assassins here as well?"

"I'm not alone, Catarina. There's no need to worry about that," At least, Ezio was reasonably confident in Adam's abilities and they had few active members at the moment. "Wait here, I'll be back soon with the key."

Catarina sighed and gave him a stare, "I'm not going anywhere, Ezio."

But as he made his way further up, trying to find an appropriate entrance to the Castello, he caught a glimpse of Cesare and his guards heading out the front gate on horseback. The Assassin heard a brief shout before the doors slammed shut.

Ezio stared back at the entrance with a shadow of a suspicion lingering in his mind. Could it be possible that Adam's cover was lost? He was so sure the position was good but... If his partner was in danger now, what happened to the mission?

A few seconds passed and the man's face hardened a little. It was far too late to turn back now, he had to keep going and hope for the best. Facing forward again, Ezio made the remainder of the climb to the roof, taking out the few guards patrolling from that height with a few well-placed strikes in the process. The rooftop he now stood on was overlooking a small courtyard with two passages on either side, one of which led right down into the dungeons where the noblewoman was being sequestered.

Thankfully, it seemed he didn't have to look far to find Lucrezia Borgia, as she had taken a seat in the little courtyard while a man Ezio didn't recognize persistently serenaded her with compliments. As he climbed down the far wall into the clearing, hidden behind a wooden screen, the clacking sound of his heel against the polished floor made the woman start. Lucrezia shooed her admirer away with a murmured promise and called over a guard, relaying something to him quietly before sending him off as well. She didn't scream or shake like a helpless victim when they were alone and Ezio emerged from behind the screen, eyeing him with an appraising gaze and tense caution, but most definitely not fear.

"Ezio Auditore, I presume?" Lucrezia rose to her feet gracefully, clearly certain that he wasn't going to attack her. And she was right. As a personal policy, Ezio didn't like to fight woman, even if this one was technically his enemy.

He nodded only once for his answer, reminded that at this point, time was of the essence. "I've come for Catarina Sforza," He watched as Lucrezia's face hardened somewhat, clearly displeased with what he said. "Give me the keys to her cell and I'll leave you be."

"For that you'll sacrifice your friend outside, Assassin?" The moment that Ezio paused, she continued in a harsher voice, "I heard the commotion outside. The guard is being doubled, and the man you sent here will be killed." The Auditore knew now that Machiavelli's briefing on Lucrezia Borgia had only scratched the surface. She may be an enemy, but she was far more confident and daring than what he had expected from her. "Not even an ounce of worry, Auditore? If that's the case, why should I believe a single word you say after what happened to the families of the people you murdered?" That seemed to be the breaking point, because suddenly Ezio could the clank of armored boots as guards flooded into the courtyard while Lucrezia slowly backed away. No, he was running out of time.

The Assassin bolted forward as his hidden blades slid into view with a sharp click, plunging the weapons through the two lead guards as he followed after the woman. Blood splattered across what was previously pristine stone floors, and the soldiers fell as they failed to stop Ezio from getting to his target. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back, too rushed to be gentle, and the remaining Borgia soldiers froze in place as they wouldn't risk bringing harm to her while the Assassin had a hold on her. Ezio pulled her with him, edging out of the area and into the Castello proper, backing up down a series of stairs while what remained of the guard detachment followed him warily. Lucrezia was thrashing violently every single step of the way, shouting profanities and criticizing him, nearly causing the Assassin to lose his hold a few times.

When he reached the prison cells, she did manage to shake herself lose, but didn't make it too far away. The instant Lucrezia left his grasp, the guards surged forward and Ezio was forced to devote himself to dealing with them before chasing down the Borgia woman again, catching a fierce swipe of nails across his cheek before bringing her to the cell where Catarina was still imprisoned. The redhead didn't even hesitate to snatch the key out of...well, Lucrezia's bosom, shooting a sharp stare at Ezio and the smile that had started to form on his face.

"Classy," Catarina said sarcastically, holding the key in front of her face.

" _Vai cazzo, puttana!_ *" The Borgia woman snapped back at her, but her willpower wasn't even save her from being locked in the cell in place of her captive, knocked out to afford them even a little bit of a delay before the guards came charging after them.

"We have to hurry, there may not be much time left," Ezio muttered, sliding his arms under the woman's legs and lifting her up to keep her off her injury. "I have an ally outside who may need my help."

Catarina winced from time to time as he carried her, but she restrained most of her discomfort and spoke up, "Ezio, if you can get me to a horse, I can handle myself. Just try to focus on the Brotherhood and stop any more deaths." They both went silent at that, the memory of the tragedy at Montegerrioni was still very fresh in the minds of the Assassins and their allies.

The path to the front gates was considerably tougher than it was getting in, and Ezio saw a great deal more guards on duty than before, many of which were clearly headed to the front gates. On one hand, this meant that Adam really was in danger. Though, if the numbers really were that high, it meant that the new Assassin must be a dangerous adversary to warrant so much security. He wasted no time grabbing a horse from the stables for Catarina, leading it back to her and helping her into the saddle where the woman sat straighter as though she wasn't even injured at all.

Ezio placed his hand on the crank that would open the gate, giving her one last look, "Are you ready, Catarina?" At this short distance, he could hear the violence from the other side of the heavy wood, the sounds of yelling and clashing blades.

She nodded resolutely, and Ezio obliged, opening the gates to the sight of blood and battle.

* * *

The first few minutes of his discovery had been tense and harrowing ones, jumping down behind the cover of the stone battlements as the crack of the Borgias' new guns rent the air. There were a few ill-inspired taunts echoing up from their mouths and Desmond was compelled to respond somehow, but being so high up had left him something of a sitting duck with no way to counterattack. Sooner or later, guards would be sent up to fight him above and that kind of cornering tactic was the last thing he wanted to deal with. And it certainly didn't help much that he was far too high up to manage the landing safely, even if he were to use one of the guards below him to cushion his fall.

If he had some throwing knives, something could be accomplished and why hadn't Cesare finally decided to leave yet?

Was he just sticking around to see the Assassin supposedly get killed?

There had to be some way to get down without breaking his legs in the process so he could fight them up close and personal. That was the best way to avoid slipping up and getting shot at this point. That was the moment that he saw it; the most stupid, dangerous, downright risky gamble he could think of that just might work.

Hanging over the battlements was a great, dark red Borgia flag waving in the breeze and the logical half of Desmond's brain was screaming "oh fuck no." But as he ducked down as another bullet flew dangerously close, he decided that there was no time to sit around and wait for backup which probably wouldn't arrive in time. Desmond took a breath, and wondered if whatever guardian angel that saved him before would come through for him again, "Now or never, I suppose."

He didn't give another moment to think about whether or not his idea was too insane, jumping to his feet and throwing himself over the ledge. Before he could fall to crushing injury, Desmond seized a hold of the flag still waving merrily and pulled it taunt, feet slipping as he ran almost horizontally along the side of the wall. Within an instant, the cloth began to tear and the young man let it slide through his hand as he fell downward, leaving a sizable burning sensation on his palm in the process. The bullets had stopped in that brief instant as the shock of the soldiers made itself known, giving Desmond ample opportunity to let got of the flag entirely, decapitating the soldier in his path with the dagger drawn from his belt and landing heavily atop the corpse, bruised but still in one piece.

The air was knocked out of his lungs from the landing, but he launched himself forward, dragging the nearest cavalryman off his horse and dispatching him with a hidden blade to the jugular. This action caused the Borgia to break out of their stupor and charge again, forcing Desmond to dual-wield to fend them off, parrying with the dagger and counterattacking with the smaller blade in turn. Even in greater numbers, every now and then one of them would make a mistake, costing them a blade sliced through an arm or leg and effectively crippling the attacker if not outright killing them.

Cesare seemed to realize that the 'overwhelm with numbers' tactic wasn't working in spite of the reinforcements trickling in and slowly started backing up on his horse, likely about to flee. "Who are you, _Assassino?_ One of Auditore's dogs?" Desmond just smirked a little under the shadow of his hood and didn't bother to say a word to him, quickly dodging a wild swipe from a spearman and dispatching him swiftly as Cesare finally turned his mount around in a single gesture and rode off without the presence of his entourage.

Desmond began to hear the noise of the main gate being raised behind him and sighed, _"More reinforcements? Do these guys never end?"_ But he wasn't given the opportunity to pay heed to it as another mounted gunman charged, sighting him with his firearm. Without even thinking about it, the Assassin grabbed the spear from the grasp of the dead man beside him and bounced it once in his hand to gauge the weight, before hurling the weapon like a missle towards his enemy. The head of spear pierced through the soldier's chest with such force that he was thrown bodily from the saddle, and Desmond wasn't immediately aware of the fact that it wasn't more of the enemy that appeared at the other side of the gate until the shout.

"Adam!" Ezio's voice came like a thunderbolt to jolt him into awareness and Desmond spun around to see the Master Assassin jumping onto the now rider-less horse, while Catarina Sforza ride immediately behind him on another. "Grab my hand, hurry!"

Borgia guards were streaming into view behind them, some of which sported new injuries from the trampling of hooves, and Desmond had no intention of staying behind to greet them. He took the proferred hand as Ezio rode up close, swinging himself onto the horse behind the other man as they raced over the bridge. Only when he was out of reach of swords and spears did the man finally catch his breath, "Well, look who decided to show up!"

"And to think I was worried about your safety! You'll have to tell me who trained you, Adam," Ezio broke off in a laugh as the three of them deftly out-manuerved the persuing soldiers. He relaxed his grip on the reins a little and the mount slowed somewhat in response.

"Are you two done, or should I leave you behind?" Catarina snapped the reins and sent the horse into a full gallop, forcing Ezio to speed up to keep pace with her.

Desmond sighed and got to work thinking of a way to 'explain' more to Ezio about his combat abilities, not knowing of the far-reaching effects one display had. Within days, the wariness of the Borgia increased, now aware that Ezio and the faction leaders were not the only experienced threat to deal with. Of course, it could always be worse, couldn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look how bad at keeping a schedule I am! Bonus mini-chapter after this one.


	7. Distortion I: The Architect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 0011000100110111

* * *

**_2012_ **

* * *

 

_Everything was meshing together, now more than ever, and he had to breathe deeply so he could not lose track of who and where he was. The Animus and the memories therein were one thing to contend with, but this a whole different kind of monster to tackle. The face he saw in the machine._

_He knew that face._

_Knew it in a way that the logic that held him in check all this time couldn't explain. And more importantly, the voice that had spoken to him from that distant place–the woman whom had ordained his future–could not understand its meaning either. The man didn't know whether her reaction had terrified him or empowered him, but it burned in a way that tore the nerves._

<This is not expected. You were not supposed to see this.>

_A figure in white paused with what could be uncertainty, possibly worry._

<He is not supposed to be in this cycle.>

_She did not speak to him again, disappearing into the gray unknown from whence she came, an enigma in the form of a woman in gold and white._

_Answers were hard to come by now._

_Lucy didn't have an answer either, twining her fingers together and insisting it was just a glitch in the programming with a confusion that gave her away immediately. She gave him so many sideways glances now, and he suspected she might have seen him steal the pen. But Lucy never gave him away; it was easier when he convinced himself he didn't see the pain in her eyes._

_Vidic said nothing, his jaw clenched in tight concentration as he poured over the data, ignoring any question asked to him._

_The man knew his time was running short, regardless of the mystery they had stumbled across; Abstergo wouldn't hold back the project and his mind was only just holding together. He knew what he had to do, turning the ball point pen over and over between his fingers, and trying to shut out the thoughts of brown eyes watching him._

_It was now or never. Vidic was unlikely to give him this much of an opening and he raised the pen only to pause as his vision clouded over._

_He was Ezio again, sitting alone in a white room, panting heavily from a phantom pain and a wound that didn't really exist. A hand entered his vision and his eyes panned upward to a familiar pair of deep brown eyes, and the scarred face of a man offering his aid. Short, dark hair and assassin's robes adorned his frame, and the man released a lopsided grin. This wasn't the first time this vision had appeared._

_"You should've known I wasn't going to leave you behind, Mentor."_

_A calm voice. The inflections in his voice were not Italian but something much too familiar. It was an impossibility. Something burned in Ezio's chest._

_"Stop it," He growled to no one, tightening his hold until his body was his own again, and the specter faded from sight._

_No more._

_He had one more mission to fulfill._

_The point of the pen descended and his world erupted into red._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to tack this onto the end of the previous chapter, but it kind of ruined the mood. so, I posted this after as kind of a mini-chapter.


End file.
